


It begins

by RocioWrites



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 13:55:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19888930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RocioWrites/pseuds/RocioWrites
Summary: It begins with them holding hands silently on the way back home.





	It begins

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, I watched the show and got hooked, how could I resist then writing something for these two nice bastards in love?

It begins with them holding hands silently on the way back hom— on the way back to his place, his own home, in the bus that will take them there just because he wishes so. No Bentley means this, miracling his way around in public transportation, how lame.

However, and to be completely honest, Crowley knows it doesn’t start here. It has been thousands of years in the making, no hand holding after the end of the world that wasn’t will be enough to deny it.

Still, it feels like a first step like no other. Sitting side by side, Aziraphale landing an innocent hand on his thigh near his knee, very appropriate, and Crowley covers it with his own, skin warm and soft. The contact fills the hole in his damned soul that’s screaming despairingly at having lost his best friend.

Aziraphale says nothing and turns his palm up. Crowley catches up immediately and entwines their fingers. It’s almost too intimate. How funny this feels intimate and not the thousands of years saving and helping each other out, or the hundreds of nights eating and drinking until one or both passed out, or the years living under the same roof pretending to raise the Antichrist, or the endless conversations, banter and philosophical alike.

Selfishly, Crowley wishes for the intimacy to only grow exponentially as time goes by.

*

It truly started with Aziraphale giving his stupid flaming sword away and confessing such thing to Crawley.

*

His wish comes true. After holding hands and inviting Aziraphale to his flat, it just gets better and better.

They drink and try to make the most out of Agnes Nutter’s prophecy. They plot and scheme a dangerous plan to trick Heaven and Hell, winning would mean freedom (at least for a good hundred years, with enough luck on their side, and well, Crowley feels lucky, he has the best angel on his side). He resolutely refuses to think what would mean to lose.

So they exchange bodies, how weirdly amazing that can be, right? An angel and a demon exchange their bodies, impersonating the other, only to rebel against their Head Offices.

*

It follows with them at the Ritz, toasting to a world that’s been saved but also that has just been presented to them anew, unbound and free from the pressure exerted by their bosses. The most dramatic job quitting ever performed, Crowley believes.

And Aziraphale smiles the fondest smile, exuding love and gratitude and it could destroy any demon, that light, that purity.

Crowley basks in it. He lets his angel talk and laugh and eat and drink like this is the first time they’ve done this. Somehow it is. It feels completely different, in a good way, there’s no need to hide or come up with a plausible explanation as to why they’re sitting here together in case prying coworkers were to ask about it.

The explanation now, the honest to Go— the honest one, is that they’re together because they enjoy their company, they’re happy with each other. They’re friends.

They’re best friends.

Damn it all, the way Aziraphale looks at him, so pleased, when Crowley accepts a spoonful of his dessert, it actually suggest they’re more.

He accepts it, of course he does, he licks his lips provocatively even, a blush blooming adorably on Aziraphale’s succulent cheeks. And when Crowley thinks his angel will look away, embarrassed and giddy, Aziraphale only tilts his head and offers another smile, so wholesome, so sincere, so radiant.

“Do you know how much I love you, my dear?”

Every word, every thought, every possible reply, every gesture, everything dies down, aborted out of fear or shock or who knows what. The thing is Crowley wasn’t expecting that, out of all the possible things. Fuck it, _he knows_. He feels the same. But how is this happening? Just— how?!

He sputters, not one coherent sound gets uttered. Aziraphale blinks and then laughs, a twinkling amused kind of thing, relieved at noticing the lack of answer has nothing to with some negative. _He knows_ , they both know. They’ve known for so long now. And yet, a week before, this day seemed so far away, just a figment of his overactive imagination.

This is the world they’ve chosen for themselves, amongst humans, betraying Heaven and Hell for it. This, Crowley thinks still choking his own _I love you_ out, is the true beginning for them.


End file.
